A father stretched his son's finger to a fire,
He held it tight until the boy screamed out
Loud breaking the calmness of the earth.
He said the boy stole a meat from the pot,
He said he never felt remorse of his act.
He must roast the finger he used to pick
the Meat, he never asked for forgiveness .

This is life longing for itself in the lights,
A mythology of the mysteries of dry Faith,
a life having mythopoetic wings of living
after the gory martyrdom of all humanity.
If only you knew it's a facade of illusion
Your eyes would exhaustively retire to a
dying place in the paradise of self worth.

Do not tear this mythconceptional myth.
Its from this sky Satan bred blood of men
& God removed this veil of mythicism.
The angels could not lay claim of death.
How would a god humbly destroy what he
gave life? this question burns my tongue
anytime I have the gut to ask it anywhere.

Why is expectation of hellfire so high?
From the weight of body to our souls
we camp a mannequin of dreams like sleep.
Those prayers wrapped with tears are not
Voyagers or ashes of men to the wind,
They're science of humanity carrying the
revival of what is left of what is good.

Let's gather to beg Satan to plead for the
Forgiveness of his sins in the garden or
Let's hold unto the hem of his clothes
to remind him his revolt in heaven against
the supremacy of God, let him plead now!
There might be a change of these songs
Resting in our throats year in year out.

©John Chizoba Vincent